


Didn't It Rain

by veivei



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Yakuza, almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veivei/pseuds/veivei
Summary: Shiki’s limousine, Shiki’s rules, he supposed.





	Didn't It Rain

The limousine was a black Toyota Century with heavily tinted windows, foreboding from the outside, its styling uninspiring. A classic yakuza car, it was like a very expensive dark suit, as proper and nondescript. The curtains in the back windows were blood red, the color quite interesting compared to the rest of the car. 

Izaya wondered who had chosen it since it matched his eyes.

It was raining and he was soaking wet but even once the limousine stopped in front of him at the curb he had to wait. The driver always got out of the car and walked up to open the door and one wasn’t supposed to do that oneself with ungloved hands. Then the door closed behind the passenger with the help of an electric mechanism without making a sound, sliding shut in a dignified manner.

The inside was all dark grey plush because leather might have squeaked and this car’s virtue was silence. Izaya sat down in the wide seat and buckled the seat belt as was expected.

Shiki insisted on that. His limousine, his rules, Izaya supposed. 

A shadow of a smile passed over Shiki’s face at the sight of the informant with his hair dripping wet and the fur trim of his jacket heavy with water. Having spent the rain in the car Shiki himself was dry.

Looking at him, Izaya wondered briefly what it took to keep that white suit clean and how often Shiki changed and how many of these he owned. Like the red curtains in the limousine, a suit this color was a needless extravagance. Both served to show Shiki’s commitment to a certain style, just like the chain and the ring he was wearing and the tattoos that could sometimes be glimpsed under his clothes. That style was all yakuza though and it didn’t show any individuality beyond that.

Still, Izaya liked it a lot, his own twin rings on the index fingers inspired by Shiki’s habit of wearing one. Not something Izaya would have let him know, of course. They had a business relation with clearly set boundaries. Complementing each other’s style would have been way out of line.

The car started moving. It was gliding smoothly through the streets and the rain. Other drivers were especially careful around it and the people who saw it from the sidewalks knew it was bad news and looked away. 

Izaya shivered, getting cold in his soaked through clothes in the cool breeze of air conditioning.

The distance between him and Shiki was quite significant, the middle seat folded down to form an armrest with a control panel for various settings.

“I don’t have much time, Orihara-san,” Shiki spoke up when Izaya stayed silent for too long.

Izaya made an effort to compose himself. He straightened up, forcing himself not to shiver anymore, even while his lips were turning blue. 

“That ship you asked about, Shiki-san, will arrive in two days,” he said. “There’s a reservation made at the Yokohama Harbor through a string of straw companies. The official cargo is agricultural machinery.”

The temperature was set much too low for Izaya’s liking in his current state and even while talking about what he’d found out, he was considering the upsides and downsides of asking out right for heating to be turned on. 

Then his report was abruptly interrupted when he sneezed.

The corner of Shiki’s mouth quivering in a suppressed smile made it apparent to Izaya how someone was having fun here at his expense.

“Do you need a tissue, Orihara-san?” Shiki asked.

“No, thank you.”

Shiki took one out of his pocket anyway and gave it to Izaya before turning the heat up on his side of the back of the limousine using the buttons in the panel between them.

“I don’t need a sick informant,” he said. “But next time you want something, ask nicely.”

Izaya turned away and wiped his nose as discreetly as he could before relaxing into the warmth that had started emanating from his seat instantly, as was expected of this kind of car.

“Thank you,” he said.

He had forgotten what he had been talking about and ended up was just sitting there again, collecting his thoughts. Shiki was full-on staring at him at that point. 

It was Shiki himself who had chosen the color of the curtains in his limousine. Now they were making for a nice background for Orihara’s face, flushing gradually as he was warming up. Their blood red color was bringing out the color of his eyes. Shiki knew well enough how dangerous Izaya really was, maybe even to someone like him, but in that moment he was looking very young and quite a bit confused. Shiki licked his lips.

“I’m sorry, Shiki-san. I got distracted,” Izaya apologized. “I think I’ll just start from the beginning…” He said and took a deep breath.

“You’re wasting my time,” Shiki pointed out.

“I’m really sorry.” Izaya bowed his head in another apology. “The official cargo is agricultural machinery but there are some discrepancies in the insurance papers," he continued in the end. "The sum they arrived at in these is way bigger than would have been necessary for what they’re supposedly transporting. So there are reasons to believe the information you originally got from the crew member may be right and…”

“ _May be right_ is not exactly what I had in mind when I asked you for confirmation, Orihara-san.” 

“There are two more days left, Shiki-san. I’ll do my best.” 

“One. I need one myself to move stuff over to Yokohama. It’s someone else’s turf. All the discretion this will require will take up time.”

“One,” Izaya agreed and immediately started to reschedule everything else he had planned for the next day in his mind. “So, that’s all for now?”

“Yes. Where do you want to go now?”

Izaya was momentarily taken off guard by the question because usually he didn’t get to decide where he wanted to go when he was in that car. Shiki just dropped him off wherever was convenient for him or somewhere he’d decided Izaya should go to do his work.

“Just let me out here,” he said. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

“It’s still raining,” Shiki noted.

It was still raining indeed and rivulets of water were running down the car windows. The streets were nearly empty and the few people still out and about were hiding wherever they could from the worsening downpour.

“I can take a little rain just fine,” Izaya said. “But if you insist on giving me a lift, Shiki-san, my office would be ideal.”

Shiki called out to the driver and gave him the address from memory. Then he leaned forward to close the red curtains over the transparent partition separating the back seat from the front of the car.

Izaya was looking attentively at what he was doing.

“If you want to stop wasting my time, Orihara-san, don’t come to report at all if you don’t have anything good to tell me.”

“I’ll try to discern that myself better the next time around, Shiki-san. And thank you for giving me a lift. I really appreciate it.”

“Do you, Orihara?” 

“Yes.”

“Make it up to me then.” 

Izaya looked at him questioningly, though he must have been getting an idea.

Shiki leaned back into his seat and reached for Izaya's hand lying on the armrest. He put his own over it, noting how cold it was.

“Do you want to fuck me, Shiki-san?” Izaya asked, his expression not changing one bit from polite curiosity. His cheeks had already been red and that didn’t change either but Shiki thought he noticed a flicker of something in his eyes. The way he was asking made it seem as if he would have agreed if Shiki said yes. Something stirred deep inside him at the thought. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Orihara. Like I said, I don’t have much time.”

Izaya looked down at their hands. Shiki’s was warm and soft over his, not callous at all. It must have been a long time since he’d regularly dirtied his hands with anything physical.

Shiki grabbed Izaya’s damp shirt on his chest under the open jacket with his other hand and pulled him toward himself, leaning in at the same time. Izaya’s mouth met his, slightly open, his lips cold, the inside of his mouth warm and inviting. He was smelling of rain and damp fur.

Izaya’s nostrils twitched at the overbearing smell of cigarettes. He let the tongue pressing onto his lips slip into his mouth, bringing the taste of tobacco with it, and didn’t push at it with his own. He doubted that would have been appreciated. Shiki’s limousine, Shiki’s rules, he supposed.

The hand lying over his laced their fingers together forcefully. 

Their tongues met in Izaya’s mouth, hot against each other. 

When the kiss ended Shiki let go of Izaya's shirt and relaxed back into his seat, his expression nearly neutral, only the corners of his mouth tilted upward in a thoughtful smile.

“That’s all I had in mind,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> If you happen to read Stages of Grief, you know what I'm doing here.


End file.
